Minister
by Just-Like-Ginny
Summary: Harry was disappointed in himself after a mission. So when he heard the Minister wanted to see him, he got nervous. But when he found out what the meeting was really about, he would have some serious decisions to make.


Note to all readers: Please do not ask me for another chapter. This is a one-shot. I am very satisfied with the way it ended-- probably more than with anything else I have written. I will not risk that satisfaction by adding to it.

And to anyone that is reading After the Hallowed Dawn, I am very sorry for the lack of updates. This story was 3-4 times longer than I had expected it to be, taking up all of my Winter Break, plus more. I will go back to working on that soon.

* * *

"Keep an eye on them until back-up gets here!" Harry ordered Ron, gesturing toward the group tied up on the floor. "I'll go after the other two."

He ran into the hallway, wand held high in front of him, barely hearing his best friend's "good luck, Mate" as he raced off. The entire building now seemed silent—an eerie feeling creeping over Harry's body. He scurried around, glancing in each room he passed.

A door creaked in the blackness of the other end of the hallway. Before he could even register the sound, he was shouting "_Petrificus Totalus!_" into a doorway. He heard a _bang_, indicating a body landing hard on the ground. He raced to the spot and noticed a curtain swaying by an open window. As he approached, a figured spun on the spot and disappeared into the night. He was too late. He spun around with an angry grunt. "_Wingardium Leviosa!_" The body in the doorway rose into the air much faster than Harry had intended, hitting his head on the doorway.

"Cool it, Harry," Ron's voice rang from a few yards into the hallway. "You caught another one, I see."

But the iconic tone was lost on Harry as he stepped into the hallway. "I let one get away." He headed back to the room in which he had left the others tied, the frozen body floating in front of him as he moved.

"We got six of seven, Mate," he said with a small pat on Harry's back. "Nobody can expect even 'the chosen one' to be _perfect_." Harry could never be sure if Ron was joking or still sour when he called him 'the chosen one'. It seemed to have a different meaning each time he used the phrase. And though it once had some truth to it, Harry now just found the phrase insulting. That part of his life was over a long time ago. He had done so much—defeated so many dark witches and wizards since his days in Hogwarts. He just wished the world could move on. "'sides," Ron continued, oblivious to Harry's annoyance, "you caught Catatonk in there," he was pointing to the room they were walking toward. "He's been on the _Wanted_ list for over a year, now."

"I should have gotten them all," Harry was disappointed, despite Ron's obvious attempt to cheer him.

Lucky for Ron, they had reached their destination and he didn't have to respond. A short, balding man stood over a clump of people, tied together tightly by conjured rope. A dark-haired woman stood on the other side of the group, looking nervous. Ron pointed to the limp body hovering in front of him and Harry, "Got another one to add to the pile, here." The woman quickly moved out of the way as Harry let the body fall into the pile. With a flick of Ron's wand, more rope appeared, tying this new addition to the rest.

The balding man looked up, delighted, "well done, Potter."

"Y-yes. Very well, M-Mr. P-Potter," the girl approached warily, still very nervous.

"Thank you, Marlick." The man nodded as Harry turned to the girl, "Clarrisa, I've known you since you were twelve. You can call me Harry."

The girl flushed with embarrassment. "Oh, I c-c-couldn't." Clarissa was one of Lily's best friends, and there were only three times she acted this way to Harry: the first time she met him at Lily's twelfth birthday party, when he agreed to help her in her attempt to become an Auror, and now, on her first assignment.

"Well," Harry was speaking to Marlick, now, "Ron and I will escort them to Azkaban—we're already late for dinner, so a little errand shouldn't be a big deal." He heard Ron give a small grunt beside him, knowing he's imagining the looks on both Hermione's and Ginny's faces at Grimmauld Place, waiting with the usual Friday night Pot-roast dinner. "If you could tell Kingsley what we—"

"Oh, no," Marlick disagreed quickly, "he wanted to speak with you after your assignment. You're supposed to head straight to the ministry and—I can accompany Mr. Weasley and the others to Azkaban."

Ron sighed. He didn't trust Marlick—always said he reminded him of Mundungus Fletcher. "Err, I guess I'll see you at your place, then, Harry."

"I guess so." Harry helped the other men carry the tied men to the nearby fireplace, which Clarrisa had already enlarged to fit everyone, together. He handed Ron some floo powder and watched as they all disappeared into a puff of green smoke. The fireplace shrunk down to its normal size again as Clarrisa stepped forward, ducking in and turning toward Harry. He handed her some powder, too. One small smile and a nervous chuckle later, she had disappeared into a puff of green smoke, too.

Harry stood still, staring into the now dimly lit fireplace without blinking. He breathed slowly, trying to concentrate on the lengths of his breaths. He tried not to wonder why Kingsley wanted to see him. Had he known he would fail this mission? How could he explain what had happened—how he had let the group's leader escape? Harry knew Kingsley wouldn't fire him. It would look bad for the ministry. Maybe he should resign—save everyone some bad press.

He tried concentrating on his breath again as he held another handful of floo powder and threw it into the dark fireplace. The small orange flame erupted into emerald green ones. He would have to try to explain what had happened. He would not give up doing what he has loved and been so good at for the past twenty-seven years. Thirty-six if his years at Hogwarts and Auror training count, which many seemed to think it should. No. He needed to fight to stay. He would not give this up.

He stepped forward into the emerald flames. "Ministry." He wasn't sure the words came out loud enough to work, but sure enough, the spinning sensation engulfed him as he closed his eyes, determined not to open them again until he reached his destination.

A moment later, he was standing still, the light warmth of the flames the only evidence of his change of setting. Harry opened his eyes slowly and stepped out of a fireplace he had never used before. He stood in the Minister's office—he was already standing directly in front of Kingsley Shacklebolt, sitting still at his desk, staring into the fireplace in which Harry had just appeared. "Sir?" Kingsley just nodded at him, seeming to study his every movement and facial expression. "I was not aware your fireplace was part of the floo network. I was muttering and I must have spoken incoherently. I didn't mean to—"

"Calm, Harry." He was being careful not to allow himself any facial expressions. That could not be a good sign. "It is only a part of the floo network when I need it to be. And you did not appear here by accident. I made sure you could go nowhere but to my office."

"But why—"

"Based on the nature of my summoning you, I was afraid you would not want to come."

This was it. If he was going to defend himself, as he now was determined to do, this was his only chance. "I'm sorry. Two of them just used the others as shields and ran out the door. I left Ron to watch the ones we caught and ran after them. I was close, but I just couldn't—"

A dark hand rose to silence him. "Harry, this is not about today's assignment. I could not have expected more, though I do not doubt that you did." For the first time, the minister let a small smile creep across his features.

Confusion hit Harry hard. "Then, why did you—" He suddenly realized that Kingsley was calling him by his first name. When they discussed his Auror work, he was always called by his surname. "Why am I here, sir?"

He was expecting this question. He stood slowly from his seat and stepped around the desk as he spoke, "I have a proposal for you." Harry just stood silently, waiting for his boss to continue. "I am starting to grow old, Harry." Harry instinctively began to defend him, "Don't argue. It's true." He was standing in front of the desk now; feet spread a few inches apart, hands folded at his waist. "It is almost time for me to retire." Now, Harry knew where this conversation was headed. Kingsley was right. He wouldn't have come had he known why he was there. Even now, Harry was fighting the urge to run for the door. "And I want you to be Minister of Magic once I do."

Harry took a long, deep breath as he tried to choose his words very carefully. "I'm flattered, sir. I just think—"

"Don't lie to me, Harry. You're insulted, as I knew you would be. I am asking you to take on more responsibility than anyone in the wizarding world. There is no need to be polite, anymore."

"If you knew I wouldn't take the job, why would you offer it to me?"

"I was hoping I was wrong. There is nobody else I would fully trust with this position."

"What makes you think you can trust me?"

With a flip of his wand, Kingsley summoned two chairs right next to each of them. He took a seat in the chair next to him, motioning for Harry to do the same. Harry obeyed, sulkily. "Harry," the minister began, pure seriousness in his voice, "you are unlike the average witch or wizard. You cringe at the thought of power."

"Which is exactly why I—"

"Responsibility is thrown at you and you take it on, not because you want the glory, but because it needs to be done. Unlike most, you will not let the power of the position go to your head." He leaned back in his chair, resting his linked hands on his lap. "I'm asking you, now, to take on some more responsibility because it needs to be done."

Harry was lost. Of course, he knew that Kingsley had always liked him, but he had never realized he could think just as highly of Harry as Harry did of him. "I—" he paused, actually considering the offer for the first time. "I'll have to think about it."

Kingsley nodded, a neutral look on his face, though Harry thought he saw a hint of triumph in his eyes. "Of course." He suddenly stood, causing Harry to, reactively, imitate. "But not too long. We'll need to find a new head of the Auror department." As they approached the fireplace, Kingsley grabbed some powder and tossed it into the low flames. High, emerald flames erupted into the space and Harry stepped in silently. "See you tomorrow, then, Harry."

He gave a small nod, being careful not to accidently say a destination besides home. "Grimmauld Place." He closed his eyes tight as the spinning began. A moment later, he stood in his own kitchen, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny sitting at the table, speaking quietly.

"Well," Ron spoke anxiously once he spotted Harry, "what did he want?"

By the looks of fear and excitement on both Hermione's and Ginny's faces, Harry assumed Ron must have told them where he had been sent. He stepped slowly into the room, shaking the soot from his shoes in an attempt to keep the floor clean. Kreacher hated the floo network and resented that it was Harry's transportation of choice. But as dizzying as is was, it was nothing compared to the sickness Harry felt even at the thought of apparition.

"He's retiring," Harry stated, flatly, to gasps of shock. He took a seat next to his wife and took her hand into his, "and he wants me to be Minister of Magic."

"Bloody Hell!"

"Harry, that's amazing!"

"Well, what did you say?" Harry was instantly reminded why he loved Ginny so much. The other two reacted exactly how he had expected them to—Ron with his shocked admiration (and a hint of jealousy) and Hermione with pure joy and pride. But Ginny knew how Harry felt about the situation and, like him, was apprehensive.

"He said yes, of course," Hermione responded, rolling her eyes. Then looked at Harry and her face fell immediately. "Didn't you?"

Harry was staring at the table as he spoke, "I told him I'd consider it." He heard Ginny let out a small breath beside him and understood this response was more than she had expected. She knew his initial reaction would have been a definite "no."

"But, Harry, you _must_!" Hermione scolded. Harry had been expecting this. She never understood why he didn't like taking these types of opportunities. But she worked hard for everything she ever received. She didn't understand how it felt to feel like you didn't deserve something—to question both yourself and whoever is offering it to you. "We need you."

Harry sighed. "Nobody needs me."

Hermione composed herself, realizing that simple pleads would not convince Harry. "You have always explained what you would have done differently from past Ministers, and it always would have been an improvement. You have a natural ability to know what the people _need_ to know, not what the ministry _wants_ them to know. We would all be comfortable knowing that you have our best interests at heart."

Harry was beginning to grow aggravated. He felt like he was fifteen again, and Hermione was convincing him to start Dumbledore's Army. But she was right then—a brilliant wizard had given him special training in his third year, they were not learning anything in class, and Voldemort was gaining power. This was different. Nobody would be in any more danger if he stayed in the Auror department.

Ron grunted, grabbing Harry's attention. Hermione had just elbowed him in the rib in an attempt to make him help her argument. "Err, yeah, Mate," he said, rubbing the spot Hermione had just hit, "what if we get another Fudge or Scrimgeour?"

"They both wanted what was best," Harry argued, only partly believing his own words. "Fudge was just in denial during an increasingly frightening time and Scrimgeour wanted to be in on the plans," he paused, "or, at least, for the public to think he was." He looked up to Hermione's disbelieving face. "He came through in the end!"

"Yes," Hermione agreed, carefully, "but through all of that, you knew how you would have acted differently."

"But who's to say it would have been better?"

"Now, you don't really believe that, Harry."

But now that he really thought about it, maybe he did believe it. Sure, he didn't like the way Scrimgeour reacted to Harry's insistence on keeping his word to his late headmaster. But he may have acted the same way had he been left out of some plans—he _did_ react similarly when he discovered Dumbledore had been keeping things from him. And he might have rather the people know the truth, but maybe ignorance really was bliss. Maybe he had always been a bit too hard on previous Ministers.

"You know," he looked at Hermione sternly, "I think I might." Her face fell. He changed his glance to Ginny and forced a smile, "Now, can we eat? I'm starved." Ginny returned a half smile as she reached for the meat in the center of the table and placed some on her plate.

The rest of the meal passed abnormally quietly. Harry barely even heard the light conversations throughout the meal. He paid no attention until Ron finally pushed his empty plate away and stood from the table. "Well," he stretched, "I think three helpings is enough for me tonight."

Hermione placed her napkin next to her plate on the table. "I don't understand how you eat so much." She stood, as well.

Ginny laughed as she grabbed their dishes and placed them on top of her own. "He's like Charlie in that way. The two of them would have eaten all the food in the house if we weren't so quick to enlarge the amount in the burrow."

"Well," Ron retorted with mock anger in his voice, "maybe if you hadn't acquired Mom's cooking skills, I wouldn't feel the need to keep eating your food." With a flick of his wand, he was holding his and Hermione's jackets. "Maybe next week, you should cook more like Hermione."

"Watch it!" Hermione squealed, as she tore her jacket from Ron's grip. "Or your next meal might have a new special ingredient in it." Ron shuddered and Hermione strolled into the foyer. "And if you hate my food so much, maybe you should cook from now on."

"Now," he followed her into the foyer, laughing, "you know a sight like that would give my mother a heart attack. And the way she drops in unannounced—we can't risk it."

Hermione just shook her head and turned to Harry and Ginny. "It really was delightful, as always, Ginny." Ginny just smiled and nodded her thanks. Harry put an arm around his wife's waist to show his agreement. "And Harry," Hermione's tone was suddenly serious, and Harry knew exactly what she was about to say. "Please just consider the job. It would really mean a lot."

Harry couldn't help but roll his eyes. "Mean a lot to who, exactly?"

"To everyone!" She pleaded. "The entire magical world, your children, the whole family, your admirers, even your enemies would—"

"Oh, the family, you think?" His anger was rising. It was getting more difficult to control himself. "Because we don't get enough attention as we are, do we? My children are still photographed everywhere they go—why not add minister to the equation? Make them an even more tempting target for my enemies. As if I don't hear enough threats on their lives. I almost want to order each of them to return home so I can keep a watch on them, even if James has to bring Malinda with him. And what about Rose?"

This last addition clearly surprised Ron and Hermione, whose stares converted from pity to a combination of interest and fear. "What about her?"

"In a month, she's marrying into the Malfoy family. As if the news, alone, that the daughter of two of the people most responsible for the downfall of Voldmort is marrying the grandson of one of his biggest followers doesn't get enough attention, let's add that the brand new Minister will be in attendance—probably his first public event since he took the job. The day will not be about the wedding, at all."

"But for the people, Harry." Hermione's voice was soft now—the fire of her argument had vanished. "For the greater good." Her eyes seemed to widen before she even finished speaking. She knew she had chosen the wrong words and regretted it immediately.

"And that," Harry was unsure how he was managing to contain himself, "is exactly why I can't take the job." Hermione just turned and left the house, silently, spinning on her heel just outside the door and disapparating alone.

Ron looked over toward his best friend with sorrow. "She didn't mean it that way, Mate." He leaned over to kiss his sister on the cheek before walking out the door.

"Hey, Ron?" Ginny called before he had a chance to disapparate, "tell Hermione that Harry's still thinking about it—sleeping on it." He gave his sister a thankful smirk before turning on his heel and disappearing into the night.

* * * * *

"Oh, and, Lily?" Harry called for his daughter's attention before she could pull her head back through the fireplace. "Tell Clarrisa to calm down on missions. I'm the same person even when I'm working."

The young redhead laughed. "Yeah, she told me about that. She's really embarrassed."

"No need to be. Thanks for checking in. I love you, honey."

"Love you, too, Dad. Mom." She glanced at Ginny.

"You, too, sweetie," Ginny replied with a nod. "Goodnight." Something was clearly wrong with her.

"'night." And her head disappeared through the emerald flames, leaving small yellow ones behind her.

"For a moment," Ginny began once all evidence of Lily's presence in the fireplace had disappeared, "I thought you were going to tell her."

"Tell her what?"

Her piercing eyes sent a shiver straight through Harry's body. He had not seen a look like it since he had tried to tell Albus not to let people call him 'Al'. "About the proposal."

"Why would I have told her about it?"

"Because it will affect her!"

"Not if I don't take it." It was his answer. He did not want any more discussion on the topic. He would go to Kingsley tomorrow and tell him that he refused.

"Ok, fine." She turned over in her bed with a huff, leaving Harry no choice but to do the same. With a flick of his wand, the lights were gone and the room filled with darkness. "But if Skeeter comes up to the kids asking why their father turned down the highest honor in the country and they respond like she's making things up again, she would create quite the scandal."

Harry turned toward her, knowing quite well that she was still facing the opposite direction. "You think I should do it." It wasn't a question. Her tone told him more clearly than her words ever would.

She flipped over to face him. "It doesn't matter what I think. I doesn't matter what I would have done. It doesn't matter what _anyone else_ would have done. All that matters is what _you_ think is right _for yourself_." She kissed him and whispered, "nobody else matters," to reinforce herself before turning over again in silence.

Harry turned over, too, and attempted to fall asleep, Ginny's last sentence echoing through his head. After a few minutes, he understood. And he suddenly resented Ginny, as he always did when she proved that she knew him better than he knew himself.

* * * * *

Kingsley was waiting for him when Harry appeared in the minister's fireplace the next morning. "You should probably remove this office from the floo network." He stepped out from the emerald flames, which died the moment he removed his back foot.

"You and I are the only ones who can use it," he stated as he rose from his seat. "Have you come with a decision or should I pause my packing?"

"I haven't one you will like."

Kingsley sighed and stepped toward Harry slowly as he spoke, "Why is it you refuse to believe this will be a good thing? Even Albus always said—"

"Albus Dumbledore," Harry couldn't help but interrupt. Despite what Ginny had told him last night, this clearly had an effect on him. There was nothing anyone could say to change that, "turned down the Minister position five times and lost none of your respect."

"This is not about respect, Harry. It is about choosing the leader best fit to replace me when I leave. No doubt you are the best for the job." A small smirk suddenly appeared on his face as he stepped around Harry toward the fireplace. "Follow me." He picked up a handful of floo powder and tossed it into the small yellow flames Harry had just left behind him. They erupted into green flames once again as Kingsley turned back to face Harry. "Well, come on, then." He stepped into the flames and Harry stepped in behind him. This was a much larger fireplace than he was used to. He normally had to enlarge it to fit more than one person through comfortably. "_Hogwarts_," Kingsley demanded. Harry instantly knew exactly where he was going and wondered why he had not thought of it, himself.

They appeared directly in the headmaster's office. Harry was surprised to see none other than Neville Longbottom sitting at the desk directly in front of McGonagall's portrait, looking through a large stack of papers. He looked up, startled, at the surprise arrival of uninvited guests, but smiled warmly when he realized who had arrived. "Good morning, Minister. Harry. What can I do for you?"

Kingsley stepped out of the fireplace first. Harry looked around for the person he had been expecting to find at the desk as he followed. He was thrilled to see his old friend, of course, but he could not help but be confused.

"We're sorry to disturb you, Headmaster," Kingsley said, sincerely apologetic.

Neville raised a hand to quiet him. "No need for apologies. How can I be—"

"_Headmaster?!_" Harry shouted before he could catch himself. "When did this happen?"

Neville turned a slight shade of pink before responding, "Filius retired. And since I was next in line…" He trailed off with a hint of pride in every feature. "I meant to write and tell you, of course. But as students will arrive on Sunday, I have been quite overwhelmed with work. And until I find a new Herbology professor, I will have to continue my old post, as well."

"That's brilliant!" Harry exclaimed with a wide smile. "I'll have to tell the others tonight. They will be delighted. We should throw a congratulatory party."

"First," Kingsley interrupted, "let us discover if such a party should be shared." He looked to Neville. "Harry requires a word with Albus. If that is all right with you, of course."

"Of course!" Neville exclaimed, clearly thrilled by the thought of giving them any assistance at all. "Take all the time you need, Harry." He turned to the minister with a nervous grin. "Would you like a tour of the school, Minister?"

"I'd love one," he responded and headed straight for the door. "Oh, Harry?" He turned back around. "If you could let us know when you are finished, I'm sure Mr. Longbottom here would like to get back to his work," he paused, "and we will have some more to discuss." He disappeared through the doorway.

Neville turned to his old friend before following. "What's this about?"

"Don't worry," Harry responded with a sigh, "you'll have your own party."

He laughed, "I don't need a party. Split it ten ways if you want."

Harry shook his head. "I'm sure that won't be necessary."

Understanding he was unlikely to get any more information from Harry, he turned and headed out the door after Kingsley, leaving Harry alone in the Headmaster's office.

Harry had been alone in this office many times before, yet it seemed different. Perhaps it was because he was thirty-five years older, or the lack of fear involved with his current situation, or simply the current owner of the office. He felt very alone, yet inexplicably comfortable.

He finally spotted Professor Dumbledore's portrait and was momentarily shocked to find it was not directly behind the headmaster's desk, as he had remembered it. With a stab, he recalled Professor McGonagall's funeral just a year before and how glad he had been to see so many of his old classmates in attendance.

Dumbledore had been sitting silently, watching him. When Harry finally approached his portrait, he greeted him with a wide smile. "You want a word, Harry?"

Harry could not help but smile, despite himself. It was so nice to hear his old mentor's voice. "I—" he stumbled on his words. How could he explain this situation to his teacher—his idol? "I've been asked to be Minister of Magic."

Harry barely sew Dumbledore's small smile, nod, and the glint of joy in his eyes before his attention was pulled to the desk, behind which McGonagall let out a large, delighted gasp, immediately followed by cheers and whispers from all of the portraits around the room. Through the chaos, Harry heard a very familiar voice sneer, "of course you were." Harry looked toward the voice, where the smallest portrait sat, tucked into the far corner. Severus Snape gave Harry the same disdainful look Harry had grown accustomed to during his years at Hogwarts.

Despite the tone, Harry smiled at the sight of another of his old professors. "I named my second son after you." He glanced at Dumbedore and back to Snape. "Both of you."

"So we heard," Snape muttered, hatred still in his eyes, yet now with a softer touch.

"Poor boy," Dumbledore added with another small but proud grin. After another moment of studying Harry, he finally asked, "so what did you need to discuss with me?"

"I'm not sure," Harry spoke honestly, "I already know you would not have taken the position had you been in my place."

"Ah, it is true I turned down that very position several times," Dumbledore agreed with a nod, though he continued to watch Harry extremely carefully, "but not because I did not want to take it." Harry looked at him, surprised. Did he regret his decision? "On the contrary, I wanted it very much. Which is exactly why I could not accept." This only confused Harry more. "I could not trust myself. My own tendencies made me question my own composition."

"But I—"

"You, too, have questioned this in yourself, I know. But not because of your own identity." Harry recalled many of the conversations in which he had spoken with Dumbledore about these same issues. "Unlike me, you were being driven by an outside power. You had no control, though you did a fine job overcoming it. And since the time this influence left you, you have had no such questions." He paused for a moment, waiting for Harry to understand. "And unlike you, I was driven by power—a quality that, you have seen, does not fit well in a minister. A quality, also, that you have never possessed."

"So, then," Harry thought he understood what Dumbledore was saying, "you think I should do it?"

"I think," he began with the same indifferently stern yet hidden joyful tone he always used during such conversations, "that you will choose the path you feel is best. Do I think you would make an excellent Minister?" He let a small smile escape, "Of course. I have always thought such a possibility would be wondrous. But as I have told you before, it is our choices, not our past nor our influences, that decide who we are."

Harry smiled and nodded. "Thank you, Professor."

The old man returned the nod. "Glad to be of service."

* * * * *

Harry found the others in the Great Hall, discussing possible candidates for the vacant Herbology position. They both looked to him as he approached, a nostalgic smile on his face. "It went well, then?" Kingsley asked, a bit too overconfidently.

"What went well?" It was a reflex—Neville had not meant to butt into the conversation.

But this time, Harry was more than happy to answer his question. "Since I was one of the first you told, I might as well return the favor." He looked to Kingsley with a nod before turning back to his old friend. "It seems I will be getting a promotion, as well."

Neville seemed confused for a moment. "But you're already head of—" his eyes widened suddenly and he looked to Kingsley, who just nodded with a smile. "That's brilliant, Harry! Congratulations!"

"Yeah, well," Harry began, hanging his head slightly, "we'll see if I deserve it, I suppose." He pulled out his wand. With a thought about when James was born, a small smile, and an "_expectro patronum!"_, a large stag erupted from the end of his wand. It stood in front of Harry, waiting for the message to send. "Ginny, gather the kids for dinner tonight. I want to tell them about my promotion." The stag turned and leapt out the window toward its destination. Harry turned back to the others, "what now?"

Kingsley smiled, "Well, we must at least pretend to consider Aurors to lead the department. It would not look good if we chose Mr. Weasley straight away."

Harry turned to Neville with a grin. "And you don't mind having that party split in three?"

"Not at all," he responded with a matching smile. "The more to celebrate the better, Minister."

_Minister_, Harry thought. He might regret this some day. Then again, maybe it really would work out for the best.

* * *

Hope you enjoyed. I would really appreciate some feedback. Thanks! :-)


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